AfterLife

by BL Craig

  “We’re waiting on a last shipment of munitions. It’s supposed to be here in 14 hours. We should be able to set out as soon as they are stowed.” He turned, “Lieutenant Jefferds, please transfer our most recent operational status reports to the Mictecacihuatl.” He turned back to the projection. “Would the crew of the Tilly like to come over and get the Admiral’s tour while we wait for your capacitors to charge? The Captain could brief me personally.” He smiled wolfishly.

  “Alas no, mi alma. My engineer has worked wonders, we are able to jump again right away, and we are under orders to do just that.”

  “Hey, that’s supposed to be my great new trick, and very much hush-hush, need-to-know, above your pay grade and classified,” he protested in mock offense.

  “Who do you think gave AfterLife the idea in the first place? But if you’re feeling aggrieved, you can give me those nice shiny stars. I’ll take your fleet and you can have my engineer.” She smiled back, equally wolfish.

  “No mi amor, I would no more have you in this seat any more than you would have me in it,” he said seriously. “Don’t try any heroics in that old survey lug of yours, no matter how wonderous your engineer may be.”

  “Oh, I think we’ve done more than enough heroics. Enjoy the report. I’m told it’s a fun read. Tilly out.” The display blanked and Jason knew that Elva would not be heading directly back to Mirada. He knew there was only one thing that would have kept her from a few stolen hours in his arms before he was to leave for a very possible final death. She had found something crucial to the underground and the news was bad.

  He opened Elva’s report and marveled at the ingenuity and sheer good luck that had allowed the Tilly crew to escape Rannit One. At the end of the report, she had attached an encrypted personal message. He unlocked the file using the key only the two of them knew.

  “Mi Alma, it’s bad. AfterLife has a back door into the NCMs, even the hacked ones. They turned all the atypes on Yan Luo into drones with simple code, just like unlocking a nexus. We don’t know how to counter it, but Leyla and Alex have built a filter program that will prevent AfterLife from using the ships comms to send the code to crew. Make sure to install it in every comms system in the fleet.”

  * * *

  …

  * * *

  Tartarus was just as eerie and disconcerting as William had imagined after Brooks’ description. The gate was three times the size of the Mirada gate, and unlike any he had seen in human or Rannit space. It was alien in every sense of the word. William knew that gate size and distance did not scale in a linear fashion. This gate might well reach thirty times the distance of the Mirada gate. Living in the shadow of that thing must be ominous. The base was built into the asteroid in a jumbled vertical stack, evoking a mash up of the ancient Anasazi ruins of North America and the abandoned favelas of South America. William remembered the revulsion he had felt learning the fate of the favella residents when he studied colonial history. They had been “chosen” for the great opportunity of colonizing the harsh great southern continent of Arcadia, where one in ten died from the climate or parasites.

  Docking with the base itself was not possible, given the haphazard accumulation of modules. Instead, ships docked at an orbital ring tethered to the asteroid. Passengers and provisions were offloaded onto the ring and then loaded onto gondola-like transports tethered to the asteroid itself. William watched several of the gondolas emerging from caverns excavated into the rock zip up the lines to the dock, presumably preparing for the Tilly to dock.

  There were a half-dozen ships docked and a few more staged around the station, offloading cargo via smaller shuttles. William said, “I would have thought the super-secret nature of this place would make for few visitors at any given time.”

  “There are thousands upon thousands of Hades Fleet transport vehicles delivering goods to the living worlds non-stop. If even only a tenth of a percent of them stop here that still makes for a robust traffic.”

  William still had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that the dead world was larger than the living.

  “Mictecacihuatl, we’ve got quite a queue today. We’re going to need you to wait a few hours for docking.”

  “We don’t have time for niceties. The Tilly needs to be out of this system in twenty minutes. If we are here too long the company will notice. If you don’t want the three full tanks of Elixir we’ve skimmed for you, I can just turn around now.”

  “Please hold on while we check with a supervisor.”

  I guess bureaucracy thrives even in uncharted black market resistance hubs, thought William. He could not really blame them, though—the place looked busy for such a small installation. He knew Tartarus was in constant danger of discovery or simply being unable to get vital supplies. They had freedom, at a cost.

  Alex broke in. “This is Alex Nguyen. Get Carver on the comms right now.”

  “Right away, ma’am.” The voice said with a tinge of awe.

  “This is Carver,” the voice on the line was low and harsh. “What’s the problem, Alex?”

  “The problem,” Alex answered, her usual impassivity gone, “is we have found Leyla Jothi. We have three full tanks of near pure Elixir, and a tank of used that is still nutrient rich. We need to offload these yesterday. We are literally trying to keep humanity from starting a war with an alien race.”

  “Give me a few minutes. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Leyla stood near the Captain’s chair, arms crossed over her chest, “Well, we can always stick me in a bio crate and shove it out the airlock,” she said archly.

  “If I liked you a just a little less, I might do that,” the Captain said grimly.

  They waited in silence. William eyed the station on the display and tried to figure out exactly which of the blobs and boxes clinging to the side of the asteroid could be considered the “top” and exactly how he would go about “parking” the Tilly on one.

  Eventually the comm lit up again. “Mictecacihuatl, you are cleared to dock at lock three to disembark your passenger and cargo.”

  The Captain slammed her hand on the console, cutting off the traffic controller. “Mr. Butcher, please take us in. Clarke, have those tanks at the dock lock ASAP.”

  William maneuvered around the strange docking ring and lined up the main dock locks. His console lit up, indicating that the doors between station and ship had formed a seal.

  “We are docked, Captain.”

  The Captain stood up, “Good luck, Leyla. We’re counting on you to save our asses.”

  “Good luck to you. We’re all counting on you to save our asses as well.”

  With that, Alex and Leyla left the bridge and headed for the lock.

  “Is Tartarus traffic afraid of Alex?” William asked.

  “She’s a bit of a legend around here. She was on the ship that discovered this place. She’s been in the underground pretty much longer than anyone else.”

  William saw Alex and Leyla exit the ship on the camera. A few minutes later Alex returned and received confirmation from traffic that Leyla and the tanks were aboard the ring and headed for the gondolas. “We’re clear, Captain.”

  “Alright. Back to Eden and on to Mirada.”

  * * *

  …

  * * *

  Sarah threw the torch across the room. “Fucking piece of shit!” she shouted.

  “Tell it how you really feel,” said John.

  “I think it’s a fucking piece of shit!” She actually stamped her foot and kicked the probe frame.

  John knew Sarah well enough to know that the recalcitrant control harness she had been trying to secure was not the cause of her anger.

  “A sheòid, do you want to tell me what’s really bothering you?” He laid the brogue on thick knowing she found it charming.

  “This damned machine is what’s bothering me. If I knew what a huge pain in the ass it was going to be to build new survey probes I might have just let the Rannit keep us instead of blowing
the old ones up. Cobbling them together from this junk is pointless.” She gestured at the salvage they had assembled for the project.

  John refrained from pointing out that she had been the one to decide they needed to start on new probes. They were not going to be surveying again soon. They could request new probes from the company. Knowing the Captain, she had probably sent a batch of resupply requests off as soon as they had hit Mirada last.

  “Hmm. Is there a reason you asked me to help instead of William?”

  Her face took on a pinched look, eyes narrowed, mouth turning down. “You are far more experienced,” she said. “And it’s not like we’re joined at the hip. He has other things to do.”

  “Not much use for a pilot in FTL. I’m sure he would be happy to help you. Did he do something to piss you off?”

  “No.”

  “No, but?”

  “Oh god, John, are you trying to deal out relationship advice?”

  “Well, I was with the same man for nearly 40 years. It’s possible I know something.”

  “That just means you haven’t had to date in nearly 40 years,” she retorted.

  “Is it the girlfriend?”

  She huffed, “What am I, a jealous child? I wish I was jealous. Then I could just throw a tantrum and run him off.”

  “Do you want to run him off?”

  “You sound like the counselors.” she affected a flat, pleasant voice, “‘Well, why do you think that is?’ ‘How does that make you feel?’ ‘That sounds distressing.’ ‘Let me make an appreciative sound so you think I’m listening when really I’m just a shitty program.’”

  John slid down the side of the probe frame and sat on the floor. “You know what, Sarah? I don’t think I want to listen to you pitch a fit because a nice guy with an ass to die for likes you. Some of us would give a limb—more than a limb—to have that back.”

  Her shoulders slumped at the reproof, “Shit John, I’m a bloody toe rag. How are you doing?”

  “I hate everything. I hate losing him more than I hated dying.”

  Sarah sat down next to him and leaned her head on his big shoulder.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “OK.” She slipped her small hand in his big ham fist. He squeezed. “Tell me what’s bothering you,” he said.

  “I don’t know. I was scared he was going to get all serious and intense. I was ready to book it. You know me, a girl in every port. I like it that way.”

  “And he’s not like a ‘girl in port’ ready for fun without strings?” John asked.

  “He’s definitely not a girl in port.” She paused a moment then spoke softly, “But he’s not as immature and clingy as I thought. He is still really in love with the girl back on Eden. He doesn’t talk about her directly, but she’s like a ghost in every story he tells about 1st Life. I guess, he just really likes hanging out with me.”

  “And having sex with you.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly a trial for me.”

  “So, what’s wrong? Sounds like you both know what you want.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “So, you do want him to moon over you and write bad poetry?”

  “No.” She bit her lip. “But part of me does. It’s a terrible idea. I really like him. We have fun together, but I don’t see us as a couple. I think I’ve just been alone for so long, and maybe now I’m ready to try something different. He’s given me a reminder of what that might be like.”

  “So, you want to start seriously dating again?”

  “Which works so well for us, on survey all the time.”

  “You could ask for a transfer. You’ve done a lot of valuable work for the company. They would probably give it serious consideration.”

  “But then I would really have to try. I don’t know if I can. It’s dangerous for us to love.”

  “Love is always dangerous.”

  “Did you get that off a card?”

  “Probably. Is it more dangerous for us than the living?”

  “You know it is. You got lucky. The Captain got lucky, so far. Jason’s on the Morrigan now. Will they just send him back to the Mikki? Will we get to go back to our happy little survey family? They can move us around at a whim. It happens all the time. You know it.”

  He knew it.

  “It’s not a bad thing, wanting to open your heart up. Even if it is confusing and frustrating.”

  “It feels like a bad thing.”

  * * *

  …

  * * *

  The cabins did not have windows. It did not matter, since the only thing outside the ship was the gray of the wormhole. William’s cabin was dark and filled with the songs of old-world birds. It was one of the last tracks Sophie had mixed before she got too sick to do anything but lie in bed. A medley of nighttime songbirds. Owls’ intimidating hoots bleeding into energetic sandpiper trills. Sophie loved the mockingbirds who created their own medleys by combining the songs of dozens of other birds in their own joyous calls. William, always more drawn to the melancholy, was entranced by the eerie mournful calls of loons.

  She could be out there somewhere, his Sophie. A drone raising fowl on Bardo for feathers and eggs. He imagined her walking between rows of the birds, gently stroking their heads as she passed, feeding and tending the creatures as they hissed and honked. Maybe AfterLife would recognize the breadth of knowledge the girl had and see value in it. Maybe they had trained her as an ornithologist and she was on Tir Na Nog studying that world’s wild biodiversity. The noxious atmosphere being a trivial obstacle to the dead who lived and worked on the emerald moon circling a gas giant far away. That would be a good life for her.

  Maybe he would find her there one day. She would know him immediately, “Little Whip-poor-William, you’ve grown into an ostrich!” she would laugh. Would she have grown? Or would she be forever 13? He chose to imagine her taller, but not much. Limbs strong, curly brown hair wild. A slender woman’s shape. No chairs, no crutches, or canes. She would wear sturdy trousers with lots of pockets and a floppy hat to keep off the sun. That’s how he liked to think of her.

  It was all a fiction, of course. AfterLife did not take mortgages on minors. Sophie was gone, her ashes blown away by the wind at the wetlands preserve near their old house on Eden.

  * * *

  …

  * * *

  Elva reviewed the images from Rannit One again. Something was not right. They were missing a crucial element in whatever plan the aliens had for the fleet they were amassing. Combat through gates was a complete unknown to humans. How many ships could travel through a gate at a time? Was there a limit? In the Navy they had always played it safe, spacing departures out. The scientists said that, theoretically, the gates were not actually bound by the physical space of the structures that surrounded the worm holes. Space was weird that way. Even without the mines, the fleet should be able to simply concentrate fire at the gate exit and take out ships as they exited. The debris field would become increasingly hazardous for the Rannit. But still, she suspected they knew things the humans were not even considering.

  She kept coming back to the hodge-podge nature of the Rannit fleet. Clearly, they were not a militaristic people. Her experience with the Rannit during the ambush would seem to indicate that they were capable of pulling off an ordered enemy capture. They would have succeeded if they had been more aware of reanimate capabilities and just how sneaky her crew could be. Were they simply counting on overwhelming numbers to deal with the human Navy? The gate presented a substantial pinch-point and the mine field would take out all of the first ships to emerge.

  Surely they would guess that the humans would mine or otherwise booby-trap the gate entrance. How were they going to deal with that and what were their plans for after?

  14

  Employment Behavior

  “So, what do they want us to do?” Sarah asked.

  “Sit here and wait,” replied the Captain.

  “For what?”

>   “I have no idea.”

  “Well, that’s helpful.”

  They had arrived at Mirada and reported the impending arrival of the fleet. Nerves were clearly on edge. The Captain had received a brief message from Perlin instructing them to hold position. Their missing communications array made them dependent on the Stenet, a Navy observation ship parked above the anticipated battle ground. Evidently, everyone was too busy to get them the parts they needed to repair the equipment.

  “Fuck it,” the Captain said slapping her hands on the table and standing up. “Movie night. Whose turn is it to pick?”

  “I think it’s Victor’s turn, but the Mikki isn’t here. How about William?” Addy swiveled his chair to look at William.

  “Is this like some rite of passage? Will my choice of movie fix my place in the tribe or something?”

  “Just pick a movie,” said Sarah, “but not something we’ve watched before. I’ve got some popcorn stashed.”

  “Can we eat popcorn?”

  “No, but you smell it and chew it up and spit it out,” said Sarah.

  “You chew it up and spit it out and it’s disgusting,” replied the Captain.

  “You choose your choices. I choose not to be limited by death.”

  “She’s right, it’s gross,” said John, “but I like the smell.”

  “No,” Addy jumped in, “you’re both wrong. Smelling popcorn when you can’t eat it is torture. What did I ever do to you?”

  “Stunned me,” replied John.

  “Stole my bot parts to make your stunners,” said Sarah.

  “Took our engines offline for four days during the middle of a survey without permission,” added the Captain.